


toasted

by dutiesofcare



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: 1 toaster x leia 0, Chaos, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:14:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29343417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutiesofcare/pseuds/dutiesofcare
Summary: All things considered — Han was overly impressed at how bad his wife was at housewifery.“How?!” he couldn’t help but ask. No normal sane person could easily blow up a perfectly functioning toaster.“I don’t know!” Leia exclaimed. “It just happened!”
Relationships: Leia Organa/Han Solo
Comments: 19
Kudos: 44





	toasted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hanleiarey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanleiarey/gifts), [returnofthejedis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/returnofthejedis/gifts).



> me: *breathes*
> 
> my friends: "bea go write this prompt right now or it's on sight for you"

**Toasted**

* * *

House shopping with Leia was — _something_ , to say the least. 

For someone who grew up with all the luxury in the world, amidst the greatness and grandiosity of the Palace of Aldera, Han Solo was surprised at how easily impressed she became with the _silliest_ things ever. 

First, there was the washing machine. Leia was _fascinated_ with the washing machine they had gotten when they first and _finally_ moved in together after the ending of the Galactic Civil War, to the point she had spent the entire first cycle of laundry simply watching the whirling of the inner tube. Han couldn't _believe_ her. 

Then, there was the coffee table. Leia was behind enchantment at the idea that there was a table specifically designed to _place their feet_ while they chilled over the couch. _Han_ couldn't believe her _._

Now, they had just gotten a _toaster_ . Leia was astonished at the concept of a machine that magically toasted their bread because, apparently, she had never made a meal for herself in her _entire life._ Han tried to explain to her that it wasn't _magic_ , but simple old fashioned technology, but there was no convincing her after she asked him if the Force was also a matter of _technology._ Han couldn't believe _her_ , so he simply let her be. 

It was early morning, and Han was just waking up. The first rays of sunshine were breaking through the drapes, and, as per habit, he turned to his wife’s side of the bed to cuddle her and kiss her good morning. 

To his surprise — she wasn't there. 

He frowned; it had been a while since Leia’s days of barely getting any sleep so focused she was at rebuilding the galaxy. Now, she was far more prone to sleeping in and setting her alarm to a more _human_ time. 

Apparently — today was an exception. 

Rubbing the sleep of his eyes, Han forced himself up, determined to find Leia and what she was up to. What he hadn’t expected as he began his day, however, was for the smell of smoke to reach his nose the moment he stepped out of the master room.

His eyes widened at the notion — was their house on _fire_?

If so, that was a _terrible_ way to start their day.

Following the smell, Han Solo soon found himself in the kitchen. There was smoke everywhere, although there was no fire in sight. What caught his attention the most, however, was a tiny human sitting by the table with her face buried in her hands.

Han approached her with caution; whatever had happened, she was clearly upset, to the point she had chosen to brood instead of dealing with — whatever it was that had happened. Trying to blow away the smoke by wiggling his hand around, he pulled the chair next to her and took a seat.

“Leia?”

Several groans escaped her throat, but he doubted any of them consisted of words.

“Leia,” he called again, trying to sound firmer. “Are you hurt?”

She groaned again — this time, he could hear a _yes_ amidst her moans. However, when taking a quick look at her from head to toes, he couldn’t see anything _physically_ wrong with her.

“Hurting your _ego_ doesn’t count as getting _injured,_ Leia.”

He sounded so _insensitive_ towards her struggles that she abruptly lowered her hands and turned to face him. The tears descending her cheeks were very visible and _very_ dramatic, but he wouldn’t dare to say it aloud.

“This is serious, Han…!”

“So I’ve gathered,” he said, gesturing with his hand around his head. “My kitchen is essentially _on fire_.”

Her face started to glitch, like she was about to start crying again. Han was quick to realize the err in his behavior.

“But it’s _not_ , and that’s what matters,” he sounded very calm and _very_ condescending. “Whatever it is that happened — we can deal with it.”

His words, however, did little to help with the distress written all over her face.

“You’re gonna hate me,” she cried. “You will hate me forever.”

“Forever is quite a long time,” he reasoned. “Let’s say I might hate you for — five minutes _top_.”

“That feels like forever when you’re hating me.”

He sighed.

“Five seconds?”

“An _eternity_.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Okay, sweetheart. Why don’t you tell me _why_ you think I’m going to hate you and we’ll go from there?”

Her mouth opened and closed several times as if she was desperately trying to tell him something but no sound managed to come out.

“Do you want me to hold your hand?” he asked, “Will that make it easier?”

She angrily puffed. “Stop patronizing me! This is serious!”

“How would I know?!” he asked in a high-pitched voice, “You won’t tell me what happened!”

“Because!” she heartbrokenly yelled. “When I tell you, you’re going to mock me, then you’re going to hate me, then you’re going — you’re going to leave me!”

He lowered his chin to give her a look. “That sounds very dramatic. Is Luke in your head again?”

“I’m not being dramatic! I’m being realistic!”

“Leia,” he scolded her with his tone, “Stop whining and tell me what happened.”

Giving up, she lowered her head, brought her hands to her mouth, and confessed her sins.

Well — she _muttered_ her sins in a way that he couldn’t possibly hear her unless he had super hearing.

“Is that how you get people to vouch for you in the Senate?” he wondered, “By speaking _so low_ that they can’t hear you and they side with you out of pity?”

She just started crying again.

“I _said_ — I blew up the toaster.”

With his mind blank and his face numb, Han Solo blinked several times, waiting for her words to make some _sense_ to his brain.

“You blew up the toaster?”

Tears. So many tears streaming down her face.

“I blew up the toaster.”

His lips started twitching, but he did his best to sustain his composure.

“You blew up the toaster.”

When Leia looked at him again, there was only pain in her eyes.

“See! You’re thinking of what you’re gonna write down in the divorce papers already!”

Tilting his head, he conceded. “I’m gonna write down that you blew up the toaster. The _brand new toaster_ that we got just yesterday. And that _clearly_ was the last draw in our marriage.”

“I feel like I’ve murdered our child.”

“I sure loved that toaster like a child.”

“You’ll never forgive me.”

“Nope,” he said. “Some crimes can’t be forgiven. You killed _our child_ , Leia. Our child!”

“It was an accident…!” she said, _desperately._

“An accident that cost our child’s _life_ ,” Han pulled his most hurt expression. “How can you live with yourself?”

“I can’t!” she admitted. “I’m a monster!”

“At least we agree on something.”

There was silence, a long pause of silence — they didn’t even notice that the smoke was starting to disappear completely through the open windows.

Then, silence became laughter. A burst of very mean and merciless laughter coming from Han.

Leia became redder than a rose.

“You blew up the toaster,” he said, _disbelieved._ “How the fuck do you blow up a toaster?”

“I don’t know!” she cried, “Stop being mean to me!”

“You see, sweetheart, I _can’t_ ,” he said, “You blew up a fucking toaster. You deserve this.”

The more he laughed at her, the more she wanted to cry, crawl into a hole, and _die_.

“I was just so excited to use the toaster, Han!” she said, clearly out of breath. “I could barely sleep at night! I woke up earlier than usual out of excitement to _finally_ use the toaster! And I ruined it!”

He nodded, trying to relate to her pain. “Rest in peace.”

She slightly slammed her hand against his shoulder. “Stop! Can’t you see I’m in _pain_?”

“ _Clearly_ ,” he snorted. “I can’t wait to tell Luke.”

“No!” she shouted, “He’s never going to let it go!”

“ _I’m_ never going to let this go,” he announced. “You blew up the fucking toaster.”

“Stop! You don’t have to keep throwing my every mistake at my face!”

“What else am I supposed to do?” he pondered, “Clearly making a toast is out of the question now.”

She crossed her arms like a spoiled child, pouting. “You’ll just have to eat _untoasted_ bread now.”

“You see, Leia, I was _really_ looking forward to eating a toast for breakfast,” he said, “I could _barely_ sleep at night out of sheer excitement. You destroyed my dreams, Leia…!”

“I knew you were going to hate me forever…”

Snorting, Han got up to check the ruined toaster for himself. Finding it over the counter, he noticed that the engines were fried and metal trinkets were falling all over around. There was no salvage for the poor toasted, gone too soon.

All things considered — he was overly impressed at how _bad_ his wife was at housewifery.

“ _How_ ?!” he couldn’t help but ask. No _normal_ sane person could easily blow up a perfectly functioning toaster.

“I don’t know!” she exclaimed from behind him. “It just happened!”

“Leia — there’s literally no rocket science behind toasting a slice of bread.”

Sighing, Leia grunted, “Just hand me the divorce papers already. I can handle it. I think.”

“I’m not sure, sweetheart, you couldn’t even handle a _toaster_ ,” he playfully judged her, turning around to face her again. “Maybe we should keep the divorce papers away for a while. _Just_ in case you can’t handle it.”

“You think so?”

“It’s probably for the best,” he nodded, deadpan, but his trademark smirk was soon back on his face. “I think I’m gonna put this on a displaying shelf right at the entrance of our home. So I can tell the story about how my wife blew up a toaster and then had a breakdown to every person that comes to visit us.”

“Han!” she yelled, “That’s not fair! You’re showcasing my sorrows!”

“I can see the headlines already,” he daydreamed, “ _The Princess who overthrew the Empire doesn’t know how to run a toaster_.”

“I think I would handle divorce better than this _cruel_ mocking.”

“Tough luck, sweetheart, you’re stuck with me,” he teased, “Might I even say — you’re _toasted_.”

His pun was so remarkably rude and mean — Leia couldn’t help herself but burst into laughter, too.

Smiling, Han walked up to her, cupped her face so he would weep her tears, and kissed her forehead.

“You’re the worst housewife ever.”

“But you still love me?”

“Undeniably so.”

“And you’ll still love me forever? _Even_ if I blow up other things?”

“Forever is a long time,” he considered, mocking her previous breakdown. “Yeah, I think I can do _forever_.”

“Thank you,” she said. “My stomach is growling.”

“I can make us some waffles,” he proposed, “Or have you blown up the waffle maker as well and haven’t had the heart to tell me?”

“Not yet.”

“That’s my girl.”

Kissing her on the lips, he departed to get the ingredients to make them breakfast. Still giggling once or twice to himself as he started baking; he swore he couldn’t believe his wife sometimes.

“Han?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“We might need to get another coffee machine too.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you had a laugh reading this, leave me a comment!


End file.
